2.18.2009
2.17.2009
ROYD the muscle sub
A naked, blindfolded, and ball gagged muscle sub is tied spread-eagle on his back at his wrists, elbows, torso, hips, knees, and ankles. Several people tickle him lightly with feathers on all of his most sensitive spots (underarms, cock, balls, anus, the area between them, soles of his feet), and lightly massage and lick his nipples. The tickling and nipple teasing drives him to the peak of arousal and keeps him there, but never is quite enough stimulation for him to climax. His tormentors laugh at his predicament as he bucks and writhes in delicious agony, even as the bonds severely restrict his movement and the gag muffles his screams for mercy. He is being kept on the edge all the while, and they continue tease torturing him for hours, until he passes out from exhaustion. When he awakes, he finds that the ball gag has been replaced by an O-ring gag and he is told that he finally will be allowed to cum. His legs are untied he finds that he is unbearably frustrated, but that he is unable to do anything about it because he has been locked in a chastity device. Fortunately for him, his chastity device is unlocked and his legs are then retied apart after being swung over his head, so that his now uncaged and hard cock is directly over and just a couple of inches from his O-ring gagged mouth. His head is rendered immobile. BenGay is generously applied all over his cock. Someone begins lightly stroking the entire length of his cock, each stroke lasting 10 seconds with 15-second pauses between strokes. His cock is pointed directly at his mouth at all times. Clamps are applied to his nipples and one clothespin is applied to his balls after each stroke. His balls, anus, feet, and underarms are tickled lightly with feathers. At the slightest sign that he may be ready to cum, the stroking stops. If he fails to cum in 60 seconds after the stroking stops, the tortuously slow stroking resumes. Eventually, his cum dribbles out of his cock and into his mouth in a frustrating, ruined orgasm. He is forced swallow it all.
"Royd Roided!" My name was announced. It was time.
It was natural to be nervous, though I felt oddly confident and had expected it to be much worse. Everything started to move in slow motion and I felt a strange sense of detachment coming over me.
"Go all the way to the `x' in the middle." I heard the voice next to me and an arm helpfully moved the black curtain aside so I might pass. I began to walk out onto the risers, making my way towards the small x formed by two pieces of masking tape which was centered in a pool of intense light. To my right was a tall black curtain with a few different colored lights shining on it from above. In my peripheral vision I noticed a bluish area and remarked to myself that it matched the color of the material around my waste.
To my left was the black void of the auditorium and the thousands of people it held. They had come from all over. The fans, the enthusiasts, the devotees, the obsessed and other practitioners; they had come from far and wide to see, well, me. Not only me and not specifically me, frankly, as I had never done this before so how could they possibly know they would see me today. But they had come to see the concept of me, the idea of me and the ideal that I was attempting to represent, the perfection of male physical development: the competitive bodybuilder.
I moved slowly at first. My pace that of a deliberate walk, my sense of detachment became stronger and I began to see myself as if from the outside, though I had an acute awareness of the sensations of my body. The air in the auditorium was fairly cool, and I could feel it moving over my skin as I made my way into the light at the center of the stage. My skin felt electric and I felt the air with every nerve ending as it was pushed aside and around my form.
My shiny red posing suit covered the bare minimum in all areas, amounting to little more than about a quarter inch's worth of elastic between the deeply low-cut pouch in the front and the smallish triangle that tended to get wedged between my glutes. My nipples were tight and hard, pointing straight down at the floor from the shelf of my chest. The rest of my paper-thin skin felt much the same way. I was aware of it almost as if I had put on an impossibly tight, completely transparent bodysuit. It seemed to exert uniform pressure, contracting all around me, and I was aware of my own size pressing out from within my skin.
My awareness continued to split itself in two, part remaining feverishly connected to the movements and sensations of my body and part floating outward and up a little as I watched myself moving out onto the stage. Able to glimpse my shadowy profile as I moved towards the `x,' the audience began to give me a welcoming round of applause. They were the applause given out of courtesy and custom to anyone about to engage in a performance of some sort, when that person is completely unknown to the audience members themselves.
As I mentioned, my gait was deliberate. One foot in front of the other, though that isn't quite how I'd describe what it's like to walk as a bodybuilder. When your thighs each have the dimensions of the average man's waist, your legs tend to have to move around each other as you walk, and you have to move your feet somewhat in the pattern of an arc with each step. If you don't let this happen naturally when you walk, your thighs wind up scraping together all the way from the knee up and it tends to hurt as the muscles get pushed around one another.
My arms, hanging down at my sides, swayed back and forth to match my gait. Though, again, when your proportions differ from the average man, so to will the way your body makes average movements. The lat muscles are considered to be part of the back and they are trained with the rest of the back muscles, but they are actually something of a "side" muscle as well. When developed to their full potential, they naturally push out on the upper arms, creating a leverage effect that tends to make it look like a bodybuilder is forever holding his elbows out to the sides. From the inside it doesn't feel any different than just letting your arms hang down relaxed at your sides, except that there are several inches of air between your hands and your sides themselves.
Some bodybuilders inflate themselves and walk out on stage while maintaining the very artificial, contrived posture called the "relaxed" position. As an audience member myself, I had often thought those guys looked arrogant and like they were trying just a bit too hard and I wondered if it was off-putting to the judges. I didn't to look that way so I just made sure I stood tall and with good posture and made my way out to the `x.'
And then I got there.
It took two steps, one left and one right, to get from the edge of the pool of light to be standing directly on the masking tape indicator. As I entered the lighted area, the volume of the applause grew dramatically, if automatically, and I was instantly aware of the heat from the lights. The connected, totally-self-aware part of my consciousness hoped my color would stay even, that I wouldn't start perspiring and that the layer of oil covering my body wasn't too shiny. The disconnected, floating-over-the-front-row part of my consciousness as my body moved into the light and turned to face forward. The applause that had grown in volume virtually stopped and there were general murmurs of appreciation and surprise as I did go on to assume the "relaxed" position.
My overhead consciousness helped my inside awareness adjust my body into the right position to show maximum muscular size while I waited to begin displaying my physique. Heels close together, feet pointed outwards at about 45 degrees. Knees slightly bent to bring out some tension and definition in the quads. Hands closed in fists to show forearm details, knuckles pointing down. Elbows slightly bent and pointing outward, arms pulled away from the body, shoulders tensed. Deep breath, chest inflated, abs tight but not fully flexed. Shoulders and arms pushing slightly forward, flaring the lats. Breathing is slow and steady, somewhat shallow so the abs can stay tight, focusing on chest expansion and projection. Stand still.
Why that is called the "relaxed" position will forever remain a mystery to me. Try standing still in that position in front of a mirror for several minutes and see how relaxed you feel. Then project what that feels like with probably about a hundred more pounds of muscle on your frame and you'll begin to guess what is really feels like.
I watched myself assume the bodybuilder's position and I was very please with what I saw. I saw a man projecting confidence but not arrogance. A man who know he had put in the work and was comfortable with the results he had achieved. I saw a highly developed, 5'8" 260lb. body carrying about 4% body fat standing there presenting itself for display and review. I saw this from above and felt it from the inside. I heard from the audience's reaction that I fit here, I belonged on this stage, among these competitors, and I felt, for the first time in my lift, the exhilaration that is knowing that your body and your muscles aren't things you work on and show off, that they are *you* and that *you* are on display and that people like what they see.
The judge's voice rang out from the darkness over the sound system. "Front double biceps."
My detached consciousness out over the audience began to feel like it was holding its breath. The part of me that was still inside my body was on full alert. I felt an unprecedented level of control and connection with every cell in every muscle fiber. All of the nerve endings in my skin were alive and on fire. The subtle movements of the air around me felt like fingers on my skin, caressing gently, feeling the hardness and density of my mass.
Starting in the "relaxed" bodybuilder position, which, as I have said, is far from relaxed, I did actually relax my shoulders and arms, allowing them to fall slowly to hang at my sides. Well, as close to at my sides as was possible given the bulk of my lats and arm muscles competing for space alongside my torso. Everything felt as if it was in slow motion, though as I saw myself from outside it looked normal. I felt the sheer weight of my arms hanging there, pulling down from my shoulders. I lowered my chin until it stopped, sitting on the protrusion of my upper pecs. As my eyes gazed down over the expanse of my chest muscles, I realized that I actually couldn't see anything of the rest of my front, except the cords of my quads bulging out from the front of my thighs. Some little part of my brain found this funny and wondered if women have the same problem with their breasts.
Raising my arms 90 degrees out to my sides, fists clenched and cocked forward, I paused. Biceps and triceps tensed, forearms bulging, a crazy network of veins appearing everywhere, I allowed the judges and the audience to take in the width of my shoulders and lats flaring out and up from my 31" waist. I tensed up my quads, my feet slightly off center and shifted the bulk of my torso slightly off to the left. This was my favorite pose as I thought it showed off the extremes of my proportions the best.
I continued to contract my biceps, pulling my forearms up to a 90-degree bend. Each of my 24" upper arms grew and swelled, the softball-sized rocks of my biceps coming into razor-defined view. Looking at myself from the front, the depth of the muscles was clearly visible, even from out over the audience. From the inside, I flexed as hard as I could, thinking not about bending my arms, but about tightening the muscles—contracting every fiber as much as it could. The bulk of my forearms and the rocks of my biceps collided, stopping my elbows from bending any further.
I exhaled quickly and tightened all the muscles in my core, showing comic-book character definition in my abs and obliques. And then I smiled. The look on my face was one of quiet confidence. One that said I've worked hard and I am awesome to behold and I know it. I couldn't see anyone in the audience clearly, but I did see the glint of a pair of eyeglasses. I focused my gaze directly on those lenses, wondering who was behind them and what that person thought of the muscle on display for their review.
"Lat spread."
"Side chest."
I went through the sequence of mandatory poses as they were called out from the darkness. As I did, I felt an increasing sense of control over my body, my will causing the muscles to ripple, dance and contract as I shaped my body into each pose. It felt as if my muscles were growing as I posed, the blood pumping further into the fibers, stretching the limits of my dry and shrinking skin.
My thoughts drifted briefly back to the audience, to the person behind the eyeglasses. Who were they? Who was out there? Would there be anyone from the magazines who would want to give me a contract? Would there by anyone from the talent agencies looking for muscle models or maybe porn producers? There would certainly be the usual mix of meatheads and other fellow bodybuilders who were there to appreciate and to support the overall sport. There would probably (hopefully?) also be one or two timid souls, venturing into this new world – this subculture of muscle – for the first time.
There might be a boy who had never seen men this big in person before. Perhaps he had seem some websites and looked through some muscle magazines. Maybe he had glimpsed a big arm or two at the mall. It might be that he had felt something strange, some odd combination of awe, curiosity and longing: something that drew him inexplicably to see more. He wouldn't yet fully understand what he felt, but he would know that he needed more. He would feel a strange turn in his stomach when he saw us up close, moving like normal men yet endowed with the bodies of supermen.
"Abdominals and thigh!"
My thoughts were snapped back to the present. As I exhaled deeply and sank my abs into inch-deep relief, rocking my hips back and forth, the slippery fabric of my poser adjusted almost imperceptibly over my cock, which twitched ever so slightly in response. I fought to bring my focus back to the here and now, lest I continue down what could turn into a very dangerous and embarrassing road.
I popped a frighteningly vascular Most Muscular pose, my fists crossed in front of me and my traps swelling up to my ears with skin-splitting striations.
"Thank you. Exit to your right."
The audience went wild with sheers and whistles. I gave a quick wave, turned to my right, walked to the end of the risers, down the stairs, and into the wings. As I moved, my full consciousness returned to my head, leaving its view from the audience, and time seemed to return to a normal speed. A muscular forearm appeared and drew the black curtain aside.
I walked back to the pump-up and changing room and sat in a chair by my stuff to reflect. I felt alive in a way I never had before. My body was still tingling all over – as if every nerve ending were on overdrive. I thought back to being on stage, just seconds before, moving slowly and flexing my muscles. This was what it was all about. No pretense, no apologies. Just muscle. And men who had tortured themselves in pursuit of the extreme, presenting themselves for scrutiny and inspection, quite literally naked (well, practically naked anyway) for all to see: the ultimate in exhibitionism.
What was this feeling in my stomach? This strange compulsion pushing me forward. This drive to be on display, to flex and to be appreciated. Was it the bodybuilding demon I had long wrestled with and chased, that had driven me to torture myself with weights and food and drugs, to bring myself to the ultimate expression of masculinity and muscle? I had worked at the behest of this inexplicable drive for years, pushing on for reasons I could never define, turning my body in a freakish, cartoon-like expression of muscle and size. And now that I was here, in the process of exhibiting myself, of displaying all the muscle that I had become, that drive turned into satisfaction and I experienced the feeling I had been driving toward all that time. I was a bodybuilder. I was muscle and the muscle was me and I liked it.
"Go all the way to the `x' in the middle." I heard the voice next to me and an arm helpfully moved the black curtain aside so I might pass. I began to walk out onto the risers, making my way towards the small x formed by two pieces of masking tape which was centered in a pool of intense light. To my right was a tall black curtain with a few different colored lights shining on it from above. In my peripheral vision I noticed a bluish area and remarked to myself that it matched the color of the material around my waste.
To my left was the black void of the auditorium and the thousands of people it held. They had come from all over. The fans, the enthusiasts, the devotees, the obsessed and other practitioners; they had come from far and wide to see, well, me. Not only me and not specifically me, frankly, as I had never done this before so how could they possibly know they would see me today. But they had come to see the concept of me, the idea of me and the ideal that I was attempting to represent, the perfection of male physical development: the competitive bodybuilder.
I moved slowly at first. My pace that of a deliberate walk, my sense of detachment became stronger and I began to see myself as if from the outside, though I had an acute awareness of the sensations of my body. The air in the auditorium was fairly cool, and I could feel it moving over my skin as I made my way into the light at the center of the stage. My skin felt electric and I felt the air with every nerve ending as it was pushed aside and around my form.
My shiny red posing suit covered the bare minimum in all areas, amounting to little more than about a quarter inch's worth of elastic between the deeply low-cut pouch in the front and the smallish triangle that tended to get wedged between my glutes. My nipples were tight and hard, pointing straight down at the floor from the shelf of my chest. The rest of my paper-thin skin felt much the same way. I was aware of it almost as if I had put on an impossibly tight, completely transparent bodysuit. It seemed to exert uniform pressure, contracting all around me, and I was aware of my own size pressing out from within my skin.
My awareness continued to split itself in two, part remaining feverishly connected to the movements and sensations of my body and part floating outward and up a little as I watched myself moving out onto the stage. Able to glimpse my shadowy profile as I moved towards the `x,' the audience began to give me a welcoming round of applause. They were the applause given out of courtesy and custom to anyone about to engage in a performance of some sort, when that person is completely unknown to the audience members themselves.
As I mentioned, my gait was deliberate. One foot in front of the other, though that isn't quite how I'd describe what it's like to walk as a bodybuilder. When your thighs each have the dimensions of the average man's waist, your legs tend to have to move around each other as you walk, and you have to move your feet somewhat in the pattern of an arc with each step. If you don't let this happen naturally when you walk, your thighs wind up scraping together all the way from the knee up and it tends to hurt as the muscles get pushed around one another.
My arms, hanging down at my sides, swayed back and forth to match my gait. Though, again, when your proportions differ from the average man, so to will the way your body makes average movements. The lat muscles are considered to be part of the back and they are trained with the rest of the back muscles, but they are actually something of a "side" muscle as well. When developed to their full potential, they naturally push out on the upper arms, creating a leverage effect that tends to make it look like a bodybuilder is forever holding his elbows out to the sides. From the inside it doesn't feel any different than just letting your arms hang down relaxed at your sides, except that there are several inches of air between your hands and your sides themselves.
Some bodybuilders inflate themselves and walk out on stage while maintaining the very artificial, contrived posture called the "relaxed" position. As an audience member myself, I had often thought those guys looked arrogant and like they were trying just a bit too hard and I wondered if it was off-putting to the judges. I didn't to look that way so I just made sure I stood tall and with good posture and made my way out to the `x.'
And then I got there.
It took two steps, one left and one right, to get from the edge of the pool of light to be standing directly on the masking tape indicator. As I entered the lighted area, the volume of the applause grew dramatically, if automatically, and I was instantly aware of the heat from the lights. The connected, totally-self-aware part of my consciousness hoped my color would stay even, that I wouldn't start perspiring and that the layer of oil covering my body wasn't too shiny. The disconnected, floating-over-the-front-row part of my consciousness as my body moved into the light and turned to face forward. The applause that had grown in volume virtually stopped and there were general murmurs of appreciation and surprise as I did go on to assume the "relaxed" position.
My overhead consciousness helped my inside awareness adjust my body into the right position to show maximum muscular size while I waited to begin displaying my physique. Heels close together, feet pointed outwards at about 45 degrees. Knees slightly bent to bring out some tension and definition in the quads. Hands closed in fists to show forearm details, knuckles pointing down. Elbows slightly bent and pointing outward, arms pulled away from the body, shoulders tensed. Deep breath, chest inflated, abs tight but not fully flexed. Shoulders and arms pushing slightly forward, flaring the lats. Breathing is slow and steady, somewhat shallow so the abs can stay tight, focusing on chest expansion and projection. Stand still.
Why that is called the "relaxed" position will forever remain a mystery to me. Try standing still in that position in front of a mirror for several minutes and see how relaxed you feel. Then project what that feels like with probably about a hundred more pounds of muscle on your frame and you'll begin to guess what is really feels like.
I watched myself assume the bodybuilder's position and I was very please with what I saw. I saw a man projecting confidence but not arrogance. A man who know he had put in the work and was comfortable with the results he had achieved. I saw a highly developed, 5'8" 260lb. body carrying about 4% body fat standing there presenting itself for display and review. I saw this from above and felt it from the inside. I heard from the audience's reaction that I fit here, I belonged on this stage, among these competitors, and I felt, for the first time in my lift, the exhilaration that is knowing that your body and your muscles aren't things you work on and show off, that they are *you* and that *you* are on display and that people like what they see.
The judge's voice rang out from the darkness over the sound system. "Front double biceps."
My detached consciousness out over the audience began to feel like it was holding its breath. The part of me that was still inside my body was on full alert. I felt an unprecedented level of control and connection with every cell in every muscle fiber. All of the nerve endings in my skin were alive and on fire. The subtle movements of the air around me felt like fingers on my skin, caressing gently, feeling the hardness and density of my mass.
Starting in the "relaxed" bodybuilder position, which, as I have said, is far from relaxed, I did actually relax my shoulders and arms, allowing them to fall slowly to hang at my sides. Well, as close to at my sides as was possible given the bulk of my lats and arm muscles competing for space alongside my torso. Everything felt as if it was in slow motion, though as I saw myself from outside it looked normal. I felt the sheer weight of my arms hanging there, pulling down from my shoulders. I lowered my chin until it stopped, sitting on the protrusion of my upper pecs. As my eyes gazed down over the expanse of my chest muscles, I realized that I actually couldn't see anything of the rest of my front, except the cords of my quads bulging out from the front of my thighs. Some little part of my brain found this funny and wondered if women have the same problem with their breasts.
Raising my arms 90 degrees out to my sides, fists clenched and cocked forward, I paused. Biceps and triceps tensed, forearms bulging, a crazy network of veins appearing everywhere, I allowed the judges and the audience to take in the width of my shoulders and lats flaring out and up from my 31" waist. I tensed up my quads, my feet slightly off center and shifted the bulk of my torso slightly off to the left. This was my favorite pose as I thought it showed off the extremes of my proportions the best.
I continued to contract my biceps, pulling my forearms up to a 90-degree bend. Each of my 24" upper arms grew and swelled, the softball-sized rocks of my biceps coming into razor-defined view. Looking at myself from the front, the depth of the muscles was clearly visible, even from out over the audience. From the inside, I flexed as hard as I could, thinking not about bending my arms, but about tightening the muscles—contracting every fiber as much as it could. The bulk of my forearms and the rocks of my biceps collided, stopping my elbows from bending any further.
I exhaled quickly and tightened all the muscles in my core, showing comic-book character definition in my abs and obliques. And then I smiled. The look on my face was one of quiet confidence. One that said I've worked hard and I am awesome to behold and I know it. I couldn't see anyone in the audience clearly, but I did see the glint of a pair of eyeglasses. I focused my gaze directly on those lenses, wondering who was behind them and what that person thought of the muscle on display for their review.
"Lat spread."
"Side chest."
I went through the sequence of mandatory poses as they were called out from the darkness. As I did, I felt an increasing sense of control over my body, my will causing the muscles to ripple, dance and contract as I shaped my body into each pose. It felt as if my muscles were growing as I posed, the blood pumping further into the fibers, stretching the limits of my dry and shrinking skin.
My thoughts drifted briefly back to the audience, to the person behind the eyeglasses. Who were they? Who was out there? Would there be anyone from the magazines who would want to give me a contract? Would there by anyone from the talent agencies looking for muscle models or maybe porn producers? There would certainly be the usual mix of meatheads and other fellow bodybuilders who were there to appreciate and to support the overall sport. There would probably (hopefully?) also be one or two timid souls, venturing into this new world – this subculture of muscle – for the first time.
There might be a boy who had never seen men this big in person before. Perhaps he had seem some websites and looked through some muscle magazines. Maybe he had glimpsed a big arm or two at the mall. It might be that he had felt something strange, some odd combination of awe, curiosity and longing: something that drew him inexplicably to see more. He wouldn't yet fully understand what he felt, but he would know that he needed more. He would feel a strange turn in his stomach when he saw us up close, moving like normal men yet endowed with the bodies of supermen.
"Abdominals and thigh!"
My thoughts were snapped back to the present. As I exhaled deeply and sank my abs into inch-deep relief, rocking my hips back and forth, the slippery fabric of my poser adjusted almost imperceptibly over my cock, which twitched ever so slightly in response. I fought to bring my focus back to the here and now, lest I continue down what could turn into a very dangerous and embarrassing road.
I popped a frighteningly vascular Most Muscular pose, my fists crossed in front of me and my traps swelling up to my ears with skin-splitting striations.
"Thank you. Exit to your right."
The audience went wild with sheers and whistles. I gave a quick wave, turned to my right, walked to the end of the risers, down the stairs, and into the wings. As I moved, my full consciousness returned to my head, leaving its view from the audience, and time seemed to return to a normal speed. A muscular forearm appeared and drew the black curtain aside.
I walked back to the pump-up and changing room and sat in a chair by my stuff to reflect. I felt alive in a way I never had before. My body was still tingling all over – as if every nerve ending were on overdrive. I thought back to being on stage, just seconds before, moving slowly and flexing my muscles. This was what it was all about. No pretense, no apologies. Just muscle. And men who had tortured themselves in pursuit of the extreme, presenting themselves for scrutiny and inspection, quite literally naked (well, practically naked anyway) for all to see: the ultimate in exhibitionism.
What was this feeling in my stomach? This strange compulsion pushing me forward. This drive to be on display, to flex and to be appreciated. Was it the bodybuilding demon I had long wrestled with and chased, that had driven me to torture myself with weights and food and drugs, to bring myself to the ultimate expression of masculinity and muscle? I had worked at the behest of this inexplicable drive for years, pushing on for reasons I could never define, turning my body in a freakish, cartoon-like expression of muscle and size. And now that I was here, in the process of exhibiting myself, of displaying all the muscle that I had become, that drive turned into satisfaction and I experienced the feeling I had been driving toward all that time. I was a bodybuilder. I was muscle and the muscle was me and I liked it.
2.14.2009
Royd : cock flesh + cock steel in ULTRA TIGHT posers!! DROOL!
i posted this on the net:
"One of my fav things to do is pump my nipples, my cock and balls, and my asslips up big and find a nice, tiny suit to wear and get out on the beach for a long walk. It helps if you find a beach mate, who likes to suck on my nipples before my walk. Totally get into my overt and totally pigged out sexy attitude. Love to douse myself in suntan oil to keep the pouch of my suit sheer! Dipping into the water along the way to keep myself cool, but really to make the suit even more see thru."
and here are some responses:
"I stroked my smooth bone and pulled my pumped tits while reading your blog. Great bone-hardening reading and pics. Royd, I will shave your body totally: head, ass, cock and balls, then oil your skin and make you wear the tiniest and skimpiest poser, with a pouch barely large enough to contain your shaved, cockringed, ballstretched and pierced cock and balls, with a butt strap so thin and tight that it will disappear between your legs legs, so that it looks like you have nothing on, and look like what a juiced bodybuilder should look like at the beach! I totally get off muscled bodybuilders like you Royd, sunbathing in the skimpiest of gear packed into tiny posers. Such a hot, thick bulge in such a thin, skimpy pouch sends me over the edge, I totally get off having sex on the beach. Oh yeah Royd, I'm full of ideas for displaying your muscle-body."
"TOO FUCKING HOT! Love to catch you in the dunes at the beach some day, gorgeously shaved hot bod, great looking, excellent tan, nips clamped...OINK! BRAVO...MORE! Nothing hotter that a smooth shaved bodybuilder like you Royd with a big bulge. Stretch those balls, tie them up, separate them and let your precum drip through that pouch while I play with your pumped and pieced nipples. It would be heaven on earth hearing you groan off pleasure, eager to blow through that pouch. Royd, that's the way you will be on the beach when we get together, your tits pumped or even clamped and a minimum of ten cockrings on, body oiled and wearing your micro-gstring-like-poser - seeing your precum dripping, and you as an exhibitionist, showing off to everyone and I shall be there to make blow my load and then soak my cum in your pouch! By now, not just your nipples but your pouch is DYING to get worked on too huh?Just love the glint of cock steel and the size of the equipment Royd! Cock flesh & cock steel in posers!! DROOL Royd, love to see my bloated fuckmeat sliding in and out coaxing a big fucking load into your gut!"
"When you get to the beach with your pumped up tits, that fat butt-plug firmly inserted, your cockring and ball stretcher on, and your package stuffed into your neon yellow g-string, I want you to do this: Let the sun warm your muscles and skin. Close your eyes and slowly let your fingers caress and tease your nips. Feel the oil slide over those knobs, and gently twist your nips. Keep doing this, all the while slowly increasing the pressure until your nips are really swollen and sensitive. Then, while you are working one nip with your hand, move your free hand down to your crotch. Brush the back of your hand against your pouch at the same pace you are playing with that tit of yours. Give that PA a little tug. Slide your hand under that string and keep heading south to your balls. Give your milk-sack a little attention, but then move your hand down under your balls and find the end of that butt plug. I want you to push gently on the end of that plug...feel the plug pressing on your prostate. Keep working that tit and pressing on your joy button. By now, your cock should be hard and dripping, can you feel it rubbing against your forearm? People are walking by and are shocked by your blatant display. It feels way too good to stop. Don't stop. Don't even think of cumming until I say so. Take your hand off your tit now, and rub your cock head. Rub that engorged corona and keep pressing on that plug. By now you should be moaning. Have a taste of your own pre-cum. Flex those muscle pecs for me. OK, now a double-bi. Hands back on your cock and that plug. Come on, pump that fat cock. Don't cum until I say so. Keep yourself on the edge like this all day. When you get back home, maybe I'll let you dump that load in my mouth. But you'll have to say please..."
"Hey Royd: Lie on your back and grab a hold of your ankles. I'm gonna stuff my tool into your cunt good and hard. I'm going to fuck you with long, slow thrusts. When I push in, I'll make sure I hit your joy button. And when I pull out, I'll pull out all the way, leaving your hungry hole begging to be filled again. I wanna hear you moan as I fuck your juicy cunt...I wanna feel my precum on your rosebud as I slide my shaft in again and again. Flex while I fuck you boy. Show me that muscle you work so hard for. Let's see you flex those pecs. Give me a double biceps. Come on, flex hard! Yeah, that's right. Now clamp down on my cock, I'm gonna breed your hole..."
"One of my fav things to do is pump my nipples, my cock and balls, and my asslips up big and find a nice, tiny suit to wear and get out on the beach for a long walk. It helps if you find a beach mate, who likes to suck on my nipples before my walk. Totally get into my overt and totally pigged out sexy attitude. Love to douse myself in suntan oil to keep the pouch of my suit sheer! Dipping into the water along the way to keep myself cool, but really to make the suit even more see thru."
and here are some responses:
"I stroked my smooth bone and pulled my pumped tits while reading your blog. Great bone-hardening reading and pics. Royd, I will shave your body totally: head, ass, cock and balls, then oil your skin and make you wear the tiniest and skimpiest poser, with a pouch barely large enough to contain your shaved, cockringed, ballstretched and pierced cock and balls, with a butt strap so thin and tight that it will disappear between your legs legs, so that it looks like you have nothing on, and look like what a juiced bodybuilder should look like at the beach! I totally get off muscled bodybuilders like you Royd, sunbathing in the skimpiest of gear packed into tiny posers. Such a hot, thick bulge in such a thin, skimpy pouch sends me over the edge, I totally get off having sex on the beach. Oh yeah Royd, I'm full of ideas for displaying your muscle-body."
"TOO FUCKING HOT! Love to catch you in the dunes at the beach some day, gorgeously shaved hot bod, great looking, excellent tan, nips clamped...OINK! BRAVO...MORE! Nothing hotter that a smooth shaved bodybuilder like you Royd with a big bulge. Stretch those balls, tie them up, separate them and let your precum drip through that pouch while I play with your pumped and pieced nipples. It would be heaven on earth hearing you groan off pleasure, eager to blow through that pouch. Royd, that's the way you will be on the beach when we get together, your tits pumped or even clamped and a minimum of ten cockrings on, body oiled and wearing your micro-gstring-like-poser - seeing your precum dripping, and you as an exhibitionist, showing off to everyone and I shall be there to make blow my load and then soak my cum in your pouch! By now, not just your nipples but your pouch is DYING to get worked on too huh?Just love the glint of cock steel and the size of the equipment Royd! Cock flesh & cock steel in posers!! DROOL Royd, love to see my bloated fuckmeat sliding in and out coaxing a big fucking load into your gut!"
"When you get to the beach with your pumped up tits, that fat butt-plug firmly inserted, your cockring and ball stretcher on, and your package stuffed into your neon yellow g-string, I want you to do this: Let the sun warm your muscles and skin. Close your eyes and slowly let your fingers caress and tease your nips. Feel the oil slide over those knobs, and gently twist your nips. Keep doing this, all the while slowly increasing the pressure until your nips are really swollen and sensitive. Then, while you are working one nip with your hand, move your free hand down to your crotch. Brush the back of your hand against your pouch at the same pace you are playing with that tit of yours. Give that PA a little tug. Slide your hand under that string and keep heading south to your balls. Give your milk-sack a little attention, but then move your hand down under your balls and find the end of that butt plug. I want you to push gently on the end of that plug...feel the plug pressing on your prostate. Keep working that tit and pressing on your joy button. By now, your cock should be hard and dripping, can you feel it rubbing against your forearm? People are walking by and are shocked by your blatant display. It feels way too good to stop. Don't stop. Don't even think of cumming until I say so. Take your hand off your tit now, and rub your cock head. Rub that engorged corona and keep pressing on that plug. By now you should be moaning. Have a taste of your own pre-cum. Flex those muscle pecs for me. OK, now a double-bi. Hands back on your cock and that plug. Come on, pump that fat cock. Don't cum until I say so. Keep yourself on the edge like this all day. When you get back home, maybe I'll let you dump that load in my mouth. But you'll have to say please..."
"Hey Royd: Lie on your back and grab a hold of your ankles. I'm gonna stuff my tool into your cunt good and hard. I'm going to fuck you with long, slow thrusts. When I push in, I'll make sure I hit your joy button. And when I pull out, I'll pull out all the way, leaving your hungry hole begging to be filled again. I wanna hear you moan as I fuck your juicy cunt...I wanna feel my precum on your rosebud as I slide my shaft in again and again. Flex while I fuck you boy. Show me that muscle you work so hard for. Let's see you flex those pecs. Give me a double biceps. Come on, flex hard! Yeah, that's right. Now clamp down on my cock, I'm gonna breed your hole..."
COACH took the micro suit away from me
i stepped in front of the full length and admired my heavily muscled deeply tanned body, ran my hands over the smooth thick pecs and down over my muscled roidgut, i then turn my attention to the heavy modified equipment between my ripped, vascular and smooth legs...just then COACH through the door and commented that i looked ripped. he then tosses me a tiny package and said that i should slip on the contents.
what i had in my hand was a small square clear plastic bag that wasn't too much larger than a matchbook, at least it seemed that small, and i was thinking that whatever was in the package might not even be able to cover me, and with a little bit of fumbling i found that i was holding an extremely tiny blue metallic poser, like the ones that the pro bodybuilders wear, but it looked even more miniscule, like the person who made it forgot to put in the fabric, i flipped it around a few times trying to figure out which was the waist and which were the legs.
COACH took the micro suit away from me, and positions it in his hand, pointed to opening and pointed out the correct way to slide it on, i took back the suit and stepped into the opening, it was an extremely tight fit as i struggled to pull the suit over the diamonds of my calfs and over my muscled, needle marked glutes, the blue fabric was stretched paper-thin against my groin, i turned to look at my back in the mirror, the suit covered up enough to not be a g-string, and displayed my ultra muscular glutes very well.
2.09.2009
02.09.09 had a date this weekend with a bodybuilder
I had a date this weekend with a bodybuilder. Intelligent, but OH SO CONSERVATIVE. When I showed up in an UnderArmour t-shirt (white) with tight 501's and black leather combat boots and a bulge showing, I thought he was going to have a fit. He asked if I had anything else to wear other than the tight shirt. I told him, yeah, I do. I stripped off my shirt and jeans and let me see me in all my glory in a gossamer-thin, g-string. Of course, I had vacuumed myself before showing up AND had my cockring and ball stretcher on so the pouch was full and round. He didn't like what he saw. Of course, he was wearing baggy pants and a shirt that was 3 sizes too big for his muscle (6", 230lbs). He also commented that I smelled and asked if I had showered before coming over - I said NO. MEN of MUSCLE don't when meeting another MUSCLE MAN. Well, to make a long story short, I was asked to leave. I walked down the street, got in my car and drove home flexing for myself and anyone who drove by.
2.01.2009
02.01.09 TOTAL BODY PUMP
Besides hitting the gym 6 days a week pumping my body up, i also love pumping my ass lips, cock, balls and nipples. This is my forte and am addicted to it, with VERY impressive results. My nightly bedtime routine includes turning my 3 electric vacpumps on and putting on my 4 custom cylinders : a monstertube for my cock and balls; two oversized cylinders for my nips and the last, a rosebud cylinder for my ass lips. Then i go to sleep for 8 hours and in the morning, i wake up pumped even before hitting the gym! TWISTED FUCKIN PUMPIN PERV HERE. NEED to look as fuckin nonhuman as I can. Can't fuckin get all of my body, my muscles, my pierced and siliconed cock and balls, my pierced and siliconed nips and especially my asslips and shit tube fuckin bloated, deformed or grotesque enough to suit me! Lately i have been concentrating on my asslips, i want my shit tube and asslips to fuckin hang outta my shit tube as fuckin low as possible! Would love to get my shit tube pumped and stretched out of my asshole so it hangs 6" out of me. Then fuckin pump that to grotesque extremes. Non stop marathon pumping, 6-7 hrs without stopping. Nothing hotter than fuckin mangled bloated red raw asslips. Love the look and feel of huge protruding, puffy asslips and rosebud, as well as a guy's reaction upon seeing/feeling them for the first time! Also love pumping my hole and showing over my swollen asslips to other pigs, love eating and sucking on swollen ass lips. The best time to get fucked is after the lips are swollen. Would love a pump session with another guy. Big nips, dicks, sacs and holes - fucking hot: imagine you and me sticking a 20" doubleheader, 3.5" wide, inside the custom 'buddy' rosebud pump, say about 5" long and 5.5" inside diameter. We work our way down to a good seal on the pump with about 7-8" of dong in each of us, THEN start pumping, i'd like to have a rectal buddy-tube made, real short and thick, so i could join lips to lips with a pump buddy. Feel our ass meat swollen and intertwined in the tube as we slowly pump and expand. Maybe a custom 2-headed buddy butt plug forcing us wide open and jammed together while we chill in between pump sessions. Sound good?
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